Pandora's Paradox
by AshHavynn
Summary: OC based. Sequel to A Wretch Like Me, can be read independently. Sephiroth has a daughter.
1. Prologue: A Formal Introduction

Pandora's Paradox

Prologue: A Formal Introduction

A/N: This used to be Daughter of Sephiroth, if you followed my stories a good few years back you might recognize it to an extent. This is the re-re-re-rewrite from the original. As a warning, if you don't like Mary-Sues or OC-based fan fictions, click the back button very, very quickly. I am confident in my writing abilities, and will be immensely irritated if you flame me simply because this is OC based, considering I'm giving you the open warning.

And I guess the nightmare's over. It feels kind of awkward, now, like every other time it felt so real… I don't think I ever could have been prepared for something like this, but after so many times of questioning reality, worrying that this bad dream might be the one I can't wake up from, it feel almost pointless now to admit that the real deal all seemed so… fake. It was hazy, and blurry, and all I could think to myself; I kept thinking "This can't be for real. This is so stupid." And now I guess I kind of get it. It always ticked me off before, back then when I was some overdramatic little twat I guess I got my panties all up in a bunch over everything. And to think, this was it? God, I was so immature.

So now, here I am. The only thing really affecting me is the pure enigma of human nature. This kind of paradox, where anything and everything else should be happening but this, but here I am, in the least likely of places. It's fascinating, actually, once all the pieces fall in place. It's kind of like a puzzle, maybe, that once you put the final piece in place, the picture you worked so hard to get is just retarded. I mean, it's like, the biggest downer of all time. But it doesn't really surprise you much after you reflect on it, and you begin to realize that you're not nearly as bummed out as all the little people with their stupid, pointless problems that they just can't deal with. But I used to be one of them, so I'm in no position to judge.

…Oh, my God, I'm starting to sound just like my mom.

I guess it's peaceful here. I mean, I'm not complaining about winding up here again. It's a little lonely and melancholy, but it's safe and welcoming. I've always enjoyed these kind of little ironies. It's a love/hate relationship.

The floorboard are old and well worn, back from days long ago when people frequented the chapel, and there's a large spot in the center of the sanctuary where the floor is rotted out altogether, and fragrant marigolds bloom so magnificently in such abundance that they practically glow when the sunlight hits them. There's a hole in the roof, too, where a young man fell through years ago after an incident with a bombing mission on a Mako reactor. Even though the flowers in the church had no problem blooming where there was no sun, the soft rays of light beaming down gently on their forms has had the typical effect that sunlight does on plants, and they have absolutely flourished. The flowers are like a symbol of defiance among the ugly, and the decrepit, and the useless filth of Midgar. Aeris was like that. Just a direct contradiction to everything that is. You know, real "see the world for what it should be, not for what it is" type stuff. I guess her sunlight was Cloud. She never really needed a hero in order to want to help humanity, but his determinations touched her and made her seek the greatest form of altruism. I'd like to say I were the flowers of the church, but it'd be an outright lie.

Sephiroth was an enigma, too. I can't say that I'll ever understand his mind completely, but what I do understand fails to make rational sense when I try to form a logical sentence around it, so it's best something to be learned than to be explained about. That used to be a touchy subject, by the way. The mere mention of my father's name would send me into a temper tantrum--even if only inside my head. I was hyper-sensitive about being related to Sephiroth. Not that I harbor ill feelings towards him, or ever did, it's just that the unintelligent and judging class of society tend to be ignorant in their views of how Sephiroth and his offspring should be handled, even more so blind to the fact that his daughter might not want to hear their opinions of her.

There has also been much debate, over the years, over whether or not Sephiroth is evil, or if he ever did have a heart. That question is for the educated to assume the answer to. It's all opinion, to me, until you show the proof and repeat the experiment. And as for me? I'm an adolescent D-cupped female spitting image of him. Does it mean I have his lust for destruction? Is it an evil desire? Once again, these are all questions left for the educated. And not to say there even is an answer. I don't discourage trying to figure my father out, and I'd even applaud the soul that had the patience and cunning to pull it off, but it'd be a huge disappointment once unscrambled. The point of the game isn't to know everything, but to learn a great deal in the process of coming to accept that some things are better left unknown.

That having been said, I should return to the important part of the story. Who am I, intimately explained, what has happened to change my life, when did the puzzle pieces come together, where will I go from here, why am I here now, and how does it pertain to your interests?

I'll repeat myself. This, my friend, is where it all began.


	2. Prologue: Refuge

Pandora's Paradox

Prologue: Refuge

It was all out of control. My life was in pieces at my bare and worn feet. I felt the sensation of the burning in my nerves from the many roads I had walked, and my feet were filthy with the dirt of earth, its rocks and shells having torn and pierced them until they were barely recognizable to me as my own feet. Yet something always made me press on, something blurry and hastened away before I could make much sense of how it could become a driving force. My mind was restless like my feet, exhausted but forced to continue without rest. I felt that I understood everything that I knew--but I knew nothing at all. Gradually, a throbbing headache overtook me and I found it hard to focus at all. I couldn't even see clearly. I climbed down from a hole in the wall and found myself in a room of stone, or slate, or something of the likes. It was cold, even though my entire body was numb to the external feelings and I thought I was only capable of my inward pains, I found myself shivering and clinging to myself as I walked, now my walking more hindered. Darkness was devouring the majority of the area, the ceiling was high and disappeared altogether by the course of its own shadows. There was, however, a luminous object of some sort in the center of the room, which caved downwards like a valley. This was blinding in intensity and beams from it scattered about the entire room. Such an intense light diminishing into the emptiness of the cavern almost made one feel like they were being ripped in two, and my migraine soared at the shrieking glow. I stood, for a moment, what else could I do? It was like being frozen inside your head, being in such a place. And I was alone. I deeply wanted company, too, or so was the sensation, and searched about, fighting against the pain in my temples for any some sort of valueless shadow to represent another soul. It all felt so final.

This was my ultimate destination, I remember thinking. This was the end of my journey, this was what I destroyed myself for; the road I traveled lead me here.

I was expecting company. He'd promised to be there, but left me all alone. I contemplated running away, but no one could hear me scream here, and the road backwards was an uphill fight, one more perilous than the way I came. I thought of throwing myself into the spark of light, in hopes that it might bring my life to an end in some way. There, standing in indecisiveness, he came forth.

"Seraph… You really did come." His face was smiling, his words proud, his arms open, but I felt something was off canter. There was an urge to just flee, to leave the situation immediately, like a little kid when approached by a total stranger who seems way too friendly for comfort. "Why do you hesitate? Come, I have been waiting for you." The idea of looking at myself in a broken mirror occurred to me. This was it. This was my father, in the flesh. I hadn't seen this man in years, and in my younger ages I had so wanted him to come back. But something just wasn't settling the way it should have. I failed to move. "No matter. You're at a loss of words. You're too young to be expected of such great things; you're overwhelmed." What he said made sense, but I couldn't agree less. In frustration, I threw his sword--which I had brought with me along the journey, and made an aggravated grunt of some sort. It was supposed to be an awesome occurrence.

He only smiled, his silver hair falling in stringy tresses over his shoulders to mirror mine. He had such a dark smile. Such an impressionable child, I had once understood it to be nothing malevolent, but simply his way of showing happiness. I'd in more recent years learned I had a smile much the same, but it was like my world was all upside down, and his sinister smirk seemed not as welcoming as it had to the seven year old little tomboy.

"You think you've come all this way for a prize, my dear? I'm afraid I bear no presents." It was politeness. It was not. It was creepy. I raised my head up to look at him, tears filling my eyes as a part of the tantrum. I failed to understand this social exchange. I misread the labels. He whipped one arm upward, holding his hand outstretched in a claw like manner, or was it the invitation? Confusion set in. The ground splintered. I shot my head downwards to see the ground beneath my traveled feet, and the small, insignificant pool of blood began to seep away into invisible cracks. Then, like an explosion, light like that bursting through the hole center of the room shot through the cracks, like an attack to my face, I grasped my head and shrieked. Forcing my eyes open, I looked up at him, helpless. I was really frozen. I couldn't move, trapped, and looked to my father to rescue me.

Suddenly, I was nine again, thin and frail, weak unlike my teenage frame, whimpering and hurt. I couldn't be held accountable for my actions, and still everything I did was wrong. I looked to him, my hero, like a doe caught in headlights. I looked to him as the ground beneath me shattered like glass and began to float upward, my body itself drifting backwards, as if I'd slipped and fallen. My gaze never once left him as the speckled pieces of stone all drifted away, far, far above my head and the blinding light enveloping me faded in a flash to pitch black after wailing like a stricken babe. And still I reached for him as I began to descend, ever falling backwards till my head would surely fall first. I could see him as I fell into the abyss. I could see my father; I could see my feet; I could see the world fall apart over my adolescent mind. I looked to him, realizing my separation from reality, and whimpered as I watched.

He just smiled. My hero died; he walked away and disappeared. Not even dirt to soil my feet, and this was true loneliness.

A gasp was the sound that accompanied my wake. Overpowered by a heat that had my whole body under its trance, and a sweat that was enslaved by it, I'm certain tears soon joined the freakshow, but my memory fails me. It all came back to me like an overload of information on a computer that has just been rebooted. I must have fallen asleep. I remember being only mildly sleepy when I rested my head on the plush of the church pew and curled into the fetal position, but now as I was awake, I was exhausted as if I had been running for a very long time. It was quiet, apart from my panting. It was late summer, but Midgar is typically warm year-round in the slums for the pollution locked within it and the heat of the Mako reactors' energy. The flowers in the church made a little relief from the pollution, but it was still humid and hot, simply the air was not thick and choking to breathe. There was a cricket or two breaking the silence after a few moments of panting. My eyes glanced insecurely around the sanctuary, and I slid off of the pew and grabbed my backpack out from under it, where I had been sleeping since not much longer after my arrival. I constantly looked over my shoulder, cautiously leaning into the lobby, which had been nearly completely destroyed after Meteor. It was dilapidated before, to my understanding, and was ready to collapse into itself any day, but Meteor saw to it that it was murdered rather than dieing of old age or disease. Still, though it was a near impossible mess to try to cross, it wasn't uncommon for people to hide out or hobo along in that lobby, and it was best I didn't take any chances. After watching the darkness motionless for a minute, I backed into the sanctuary again, still peering into the lobby until I was sure it was ok to turn around. I walked casually from then on, stopping at a window to check the path outside. The coast was clear, and it would be the most logical thing to do to get going before daybreak. I had only my backpack with a few survival necessities in it and a chocobo my mother had bred for me from her own, a white female who went by Independence. She was nowhere in sight, so I gave a light whistle and jumped a bit when I heard a stir in the lobby. Independence came hopping out of the rubble and strutted towards be over the golden flowers, stopping short, even, to choose a fine bloomer to nibble. I scolded her, naively afraid of what might happen if I were to defile the plants. As I took her reins and began to lead her towards the door, I had to whip around to a voice that spoke.

"You know what you're doing is only going to make you more sad. You shouldn't be here."

It was a girl's voice, light and caring, attempting to sound stern and motherly in this comment. There was no one anywhere to be seen. It was all in my head.

Really, I was sure it wasn't; I'd been hearing voices since I was too little to remember, but as of recent, I had realized how abnormal it was, and just how much trouble they caused me, and so had tried to ignore them. They were always friendly as far as I could recall. I was abandoning a friend, I felt, but it was for the better. So I pretended not to hear her and marched out the door. Oh, but I was strong and independent and needed no one to instruct me on how to live life or deal with my problems. I was a 14 year old little egotistical brat. If there was a lock on the door, entering it became all the more enticing.

Besides, I had no time for idle chitchat with my insanity. I had to get out of Midgar and go hide in the mountains or something before daybreak, or else they'd find me. I was doing so great, or so I thought. I'd never gotten this far away from home before.


	3. Prologue: Development

Pandora's Paradox

Prologue: Development

It was never really any big deal for me to be alone--in my own opinion, anyway. Naturally, it would be an uncomfortable occurrence for some. I preferred solitude to an extent… Reality: I would have spent the vast majority of my life without company or even acknowledgement of other presences. I wasn't much a firm believer in that all is good in moderation, I was a typical young soul that saw what was good and desired nothing but. It was natural, then, that I would only seek solitude as my solace. And with the innate ability to talk up any concept, the blunt of it was that I was unimaginably anti-social. Unfortunately, this is exactly what society would expect from the "seed of all evil." And it had me on the go to stay under the radar of any judges' watchful eyes, as well.

So I found myself stepping into the pitch of Sector 5. God, it was like a junkyard in this place. Not that I was one to be spooked or discouraged by such ugliness, being the _strong, unique outcast that I was._ It was just that the chapel was much more comfortable, convenient, picturesque and secure. It was, of course, this notion that led me to realize that it couldn't be that secure if I laid there in wait until someone came and found me.

Oh, the luxuries of being an average-Joe in the world, where you might not have the whole of the Turks as well as Neo Bahamut trying to scope you out.

Anyway, for this reminder, I drew my chocobo outside of the church and began my trek. There was little to go to. There was really nowhere to hide in Sector 5, so I'd have to make the trip through the junk trail that led to Sector 6 only to have to pass through that hellhole in a magnificent feat of not starting a whole riot so I could access the wire up to the top of the Sector 7 ruins. Not the most thought out plan, but the ruins of Sector 7 had plenty of debris to hide among. Please refrain from asking what I intended to do upon arrival, because my only response can be "it seemed like a good idea at the time." Really, studies have shown that the human mind does not fully develop to the point of futuristically perceiving the consequences of their actions until they are around 25, and as a 14 year old runaway, I believe it does not need further explanation that I failed at planning things out logically. Continuing where the story left off before I get too ahead of myself, I had decided the ruins to be a better refuge than Kalm. As much as the idea of living in Kalm enticed me, it was simply too risky (although the original plan was to cut my hair, tease it and tie it in a high bun, wear an old floral pattered dress and use the powers of modern cosmetics to add wrinkles to my face and pretend to be a cranky old woman and chill at Kalm). Thus, I headed towards the old, rugged path with its debris placed almost fashionably in a decorum of rust and oil. I could hope to be getting through Sector 6 about the time the anxious shopkeepers began to set out their merchandise. Feeling the contraction of an empty stomach, I half hoped that the restaurant my mother used to tell me stories about was there, playing with the idea in my mind that I might stop in to eat breakfast.

Nobody had to tell me; I already knew that this simply wouldn't do. To anyone who knew of my father's apparitions and massacres, I was nothing more than a terrorist in stylish clothes--as stylish as a zip-up hoodie, a pair of torn men's work pants and beat up brown shoes could be. I remember how shallow I was, being very displeased at the fact. I had intended on wearing knee high black buckled boots with a black trench coat duster and 12 different other articles of black bullshit clothing to make me look dark and intimidating, but needing to pack light and being suddenly forced to move ahead of schedule due to the unexpected discovery of a map with destinations marked on it by my mother, I had to go in less appealing casual clothing. What a dread! The Planet would now see that Sephiroth's spawn had the ability to appear like any other girl. Or man, as was the case I more so resembled. I'd had such a loss, I'd even forgotten to pack my eyeliner.

This returns to the subject of Kalm, being the place marked on the map, and the underdeveloped teenage mind, as I still obviously thought Midgar was a good hiding place after knowing that I'd be looked for at Kalm. Such a bright child was I. Did I mention I made straight A's on all of my report cards until I began first causing problems at school? This seemed to dismantle the logic that there were actually things I didn't know about in the world.

By an hour or two before the first lights (and few, reminding that this is Midgar even if Meteor had destroyed much of the upper plate) would appear, I was still traveling the more physically strenuous part of the trip. It being so rough, I'd been pulling Independence along rather than riding her, as there was a higher chance that she might trip or become spooked by some aspect of the jungle of old machine parts along the way. I did not feel this was making appropriate timing. Not too many yards in front of me, I saw the form of something like a monstrous mechanical arm, with a hand that extended out of it like a platform. The arm was partially embedded in a hill of dirt, and looked stable enough, so I decided to climb up on it and get a view of how far I had left. There were actually numerous more street urchins now than before the fall of Meteor, and though most jobs were strict labor or of the self-employed nature, most stubbornly refused to depart from their hometown, too afraid to wonder what might lie beyond their respective thrones of rubbish and feces. This meant that there would be traffic in the trail come morning light, not for want but necessity, and people were the one thing I was trying hardest to avoid.

I can still remember the harshness of the climb. It shouldn't have been anything difficult to manage, just a tightrope walk across a pipe and onto a platform. Balance was key, but doubt is the enemy of such, and I was very unsettled on whether or not I could make it without falling. I had already scratched my right arm on a sharp warp in the pipe while I attempted to pull myself up on it rather than walk the whole way. I managed to get to the palm of the hand, and looked over the trail, seeing that I had not far to go. This pleased me, but I was too careful in my attempt to turn around and return the way I came and lost my footing, toppling over between the fingers. In fact, my pants leg had become caught, and my entire focus became absorbed in undoing the bond so that I might hit the ground below without losing them--a typical girlish reaction underlining my unique approach to life, which was to be totally unfeminine. I must have been squirming like a worm, because the fingers I was lodged between wore bruises into my sides as I smacked myself against them trying to free my leg. I saw the silhouette of my chocobo standing above me as she had come to see where I had disappeared to. Sometimes, I am overwhelmed with joy that I fed her mainly greens that boosted her will to learn, because my Independence was quite the intelligent bird. She saw where my pants were caught and tore them at the point with her huge, parrot beak so that I would fall. There was a moment of shock when my back made contact, because I was expecting the cold, hard but sandy ground to catch me, but instead my sense of touch was welcomed by something soft and squishy, with ridges. I felt with my hand and noticed little hairs… and It was moving. But I was Sephiroth's cool, collected daughter. I had it under control. Squishy, hairy live things don't freak me out in the least, and never have.

"_Scream" doesn't even begin to describe the sound that came out of my mouth._


End file.
